


Sin City For Beginners

by inlovewithnight



Category: Fantastic Four (Movieverse), Iron Man (2008), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 12:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Assumes an extended Marvel movieverse.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sin City For Beginners

**Author's Note:**

> Assumes an extended Marvel movieverse.

The interior of Tony Stark's private jet was done up in wood paneling and red leather, like it had escaped directly from some late-70s model of boys-club decadence. Scott had spent the last three hours trying to decide if that was meant as an ironic statement or a terrifyingly unironic one. It was impossible to say.

"I bet if Jean was here," he said, glancing across the body of the plane to where Reed sat looking out the window with a glum expression, "she would want to know if Tony was compensating for something."

"What?" Reed looked up and blinked. Scott had expected that; it was the most common way for any conversation with Richards to begin.

"The whole hyper-masculine stereotypical testosterone-fest going on in here. I'm surprised there aren't deer heads on the walls." He waved his hand, indicating the whole plane. "Jean would want to know what he's compensating for."

Reed's eyes tracked slowly around the cabin. "Why would Tony have to compensate? He sort of has everything, you know."

Scott supposed he should have expected that, too. Reed did have a strong tendency toward the literal. "Money can't buy happiness."

"No," Reed said, looking out the window again as the plane started to descend, "but it can buy what amounts to a week of hostage-taking in Las Vegas."

"We're not _hostages_. It's a week's vacation, all expenses paid, not the gulag."

"Were you paying attention to the conversation in Tony's office?"

"Of course I was."

Reed continued to look out the window, his voice remaining perfectly conversational. "Do you remember the part where he said 'My dime, my rules, boys, consider me your trip planner'?"

Scott frowned. "Yeah..."

"Have you ever _spent_ any time with Tony Stark?"

Scott was quiet for a moment. "Hostages."

"I bet the car from the airport to the hotel comes complete with adamantium paneling and armored guards."  
**  
Tony Stark's home-away-from-home in Las Vegas was the top floor of the Bellagio, checked out in perpetuity. _Posh_ was not precisely the right word. Nor was _swanky_. _Stark_, while a tempting pun, was in fact the opposite of the adjective necessary to describe the suite.

Scott came out of the bathroom to find Reed standing very still in the middle of the living room, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "I'm afraid to touch anything," Reed said, looking at the antiques and priceless artwork casually displayed around the room. "I'm going to have to sleep in the shower."

"You're afraid you might break something in your sleep?"

Reed's eyes didn't leave the Ming vase by the door. "There is the occasional nightmare-induced stretching incident. Not often, but better safe than sorry."

"Ah." Scott nodded in sympathy. "Jean redirects my nightmares pretty much as soon as they get started. Benefits of a telepathic girlfriend."

Reed smiled faintly. "I can imagine the drawbacks for myself, not to worry."

"Thanks. Even from Paris, she would _know_ and she could get me."

"I hope she and Sue are having a nice time," Reed said, moving over to the window and looking out at the city, hands still carefully in his pockets.

"I can't believe they actually went." Scott shook his head and sat down, sinking two inches into the overstuffed chair. "A week in Paris with Emma Frost? Actually, I can't believe Emma _invited_ them."

"Sue explained it to me," Reed said absently, squinting against the reflection of the sun off the buildings of the Strip. "It's a combination of several complex feminine-coded interpersonal dominance dynamics, a strong desire to maintain face in front of a rival, and the chance to go shopping bankrolled by Tony."

"Tony was behind that, too?"

"It's usually best to assume that Tony's behind everything," Reed said wearily, turning from the window and selecting a chair of his own. "So. Now what do we do?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't know. It's Vegas. I guess we go gamble."

Reed nodded, unsmiling. "You would think that, wouldn't you."

"Is there some reason why we can't?"

"Just a small one, apparently, since Tony failed to pick up on it."

"Okay." Scott frowned. "What is it?"

Reed looked down at the carpet between his shoes. "I'm banned from setting foot on any casino floor in the city."

"What?"

"Also, banned from the entire city of Monte Carlo." Reed glanced up and shrugged. "There was...an incident, in college, it's really not worth talking about."

Scott stared at him for a moment. "You were counting cards?"

"A little more complicated than that."

"Wow." Scott blinked. "So, we're in Las Vegas but we can't gamble."

"Well, _you_ can."

"Yeah, because I'm a sad loser who gambles alone, not to mention a lousy friend who leaves you up here by yourself."

"It's very kind of you that I made the list at all."

"Stop it." Scott frowned. "So...what are we going to do?"

Reed looked over at the plasma flat-screen TV hanging between two paintings of hopeless worth and antiquity. "Could see if he gets CNN."  
**  
The suite came with its own concierge, as they found out an hour or so later when a polite knock at the door interrupted their debate over the ethical and geopolitical ramifications of superheroic interference in situations of civil war or natural disaster. It was not, in any way, a new or innovative debate, but it was an enthusiastic one.

"Every region presumably has its own local mutants, Reed," Scott said as he went to get the door. "We should educate and empower locally before we--"

"Yes, but should an individual whose powers are based in a science accident automatically be disqualified from involvement? I'm not sure cultural imperialism is really a relevant objection when children are--" Reed stopped as the concierge stepped inside, carrying a silver tray holding a telephone receiver. "What's that?"

The man's gaze drifted down to the tray and returned to a point just above Reed's head. "A telephone, sir."

"We weren't expecting any calls," Scott said.

"It's Mr. Stark, sir. He wishes to speak to one of you."

"Which one?"

"He expressed no preference."

Reed and Scott looked at each other, and Scott offered his hand. "Thumb wrestle?"

"I kind of have an advantage at that," Reed said, then sighed and gestured for the phone. "Fine. Please, Mr...?"

"Archer, sir."

"You're well-paid for this kind of thing, aren't you, Mr. Archer?"

"Extremely so, sir."

Reed offered a wan smile, which Archer did not return, and took the phone. "Hi, Tony."

"Richards, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Enjoying your hotel. It's great. Really great."

"Like hell you are. You two have been sitting there doing nothing since you arrived. This is what I'm paying for?"

Reed's eyes narrowed. "Are you spying on us, Tony?"

"Of course not, Richards, don't be crazy. Spying's what you do to your enemies. When it's your friends, it's judicious monitoring in their own best interests."

"Tony..."

"Go out and have a good time, Richards. I mean it. The only time you should be watching TV is when you're too hungover to move, or you're watching some of the specialty erotica channels off satellite."

Reed blinked. "Specialty?"

"Don't tell me the guy who can tie himself in knots always sticks to missionary in the dark."

Reed blinked a few more times, staring off into space with an expression that sent Scott to the bar to put a glass of ice water on standby.

"Go have fun, Richards. Or I'll have to intervene more directly. And I'm a very busy man. I don't think any of us wants that."

"No, Tony."

"I found out about your little gambling problem just after the plane left. My apologies. I'm talking to a guy about getting that sorted out. In the meantime, go to a show. Hit the pool. Check out that freaky wax museum. Have _fun_." There was a distinctly steely--well, iron, more likely--edge to his voice, and Reed found himself nodding.

"Okay, Tony."

"Tell Summers hello."

"I will. Bye." Reed pressed the button to disconnect and stood holding the phone for a moment.

"Well?" Scott asked finally, handing him the glass of water.

Reed looked at him and then back at the phone. "We have to go have fun now."

"Or what?"

"Or Tony will make us."

"Oh." Scott nodded and took the phone, placing it carefully on the bar. "Okay, then. Any suggestions?"

"He said to go to the pool. Or a show. Or a wax museum."

"Pool sounds nice."

"UV radiation causes skin cancer."

Scott frowned. "Can you still _get_ skin cancer? I mean, your cells are--"

"I'd prefer not to chance it." Reed looked out the window at the sun, still painfully bright even in the late afternoon. "So first we'll have to get some sunblock."

"I bet that guy can get it for us. Archer."

Reed glanced back over his shoulder. "I'm kind of afraid of him."

"Me, too." Scott sighed. "Well, we're superheroes, right? It's a mission. Let's go."  
**  
"Okay," Scott said, collapsing onto the couch and groaning, "we'll definitely make it to the pool tomorrow."

Reed mumbled something incomprehensible from the bar, where he was pouring vodka.

Scott stared up at the ceiling. "Who _were_ those girls, anyway?"

"The brunette is on that TV show about the marine biologist by day, ninja by night."

"Oh, right. And most of the others were her friends, I guess. But the redhead looked familiar. Who was she?"

Reed calmly downed the contents of his glass without benefit of mixer. "Daughter of the senior senator from New York."

Scott eyed him. "You going to share that bottle? And you say that like you know her, which would explain how she recognized us when we were minding our own business."

"First of all, in reverse order." Reed held up one finger. "Ruby-quartz glasses and this thing my hair does. Second. Johnny dated her for about two weeks. And third, no, I am not going to share, but you can have your own." He grabbed another bottle and joined Scott on the couch. "Well. I hope the disembodied head of Tony Stark watching over us counted that as fun."

"We saw lots of Vegas."

"I think we saw every clothing store in Vegas, yes. And every lingerie shop." Reed took a hit off his bottle and glanced at Scott. "How's the headache, by the way?"

"Better. Jean backed off. I thought at her that it was all your fault."

"Oh, thanks."

"She didn't believe me, so I blamed Tony. That, she bought."

"Sounds about right." Reed leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. "So. Pool tomorrow?"

"Yeah. And we can get tickets to something, I guess. Maybe Blue Man Group. I could get an autographed photo for Hank."

"Aren't there any science museums around here?" Reed took another swallow of vodka. "Or would that not be pleasing to the giant floating head?"

Scott shuddered. "Don't joke about that, okay?" He made a face at Reed's puzzled look. "Long story."

"I bet." Reed ran his hand through his hair and reached for a brochure that Archer had discreetly left on the coffee table. "Looks like there's Cirque du Soleil--"

"--probably not too impressive for you."

"Not really." Reed frowned. "Do you think I creep people out as much as those guys do?"

"Yes." Scott shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, dude."

"Great. Well. That, Wayne Newton, Celine Dion...hey, Dazzler's in town."

Scott winced. "I got my fill of Dazzler a long time ago, believe it or not."

"Okay." Reed stared at the brochure. "What about Champions on Ice?"

Scott grinned. "Somewhere, Tony Stark is screaming and he doesn't even know why."  
**  
Archer met them at the elevator door, disapproving expression firmly in place, though Scott and Reed weren't at all sure that he had any other expressions to choose from.

"Mr. Stark, sirs," he murmured, holding out another tray and telephone.

Scott and Reed looked at it, then at each other. "It's your turn," Reed said.

"I paid for dinner."

"You didn't have to."

Scott dismissed that with a wave of his hand that turned into a vague, stabbing motion in Reed's direction. "He likes you better."

"That's open to debate." Reed's expression veered much closer to a pout than superhero standards allowed.

"You've known him--"

"_Sirs_." Archer's voice overrode theirs easily, though his face remained inscrutable and polite. "Mr. Stark is waiting."

Scott flailed his arms meaningfully. Reed sighed and took the phone as they resumed their progress into the suite. "Hi, Tony."

"Champions on _Ice_?"

"We got autographs."

There was a long, pained silence. In perfect synchronization with it, Archer rolled his eyes and removed himself from the room.

"We also went to the M&amp;M store," Reed said, looking down at the shopping bags looped over his arm. "I got you a t-shirt."

"Richards..."

"And a pen set."

"With M&amp;Ms on it. I don't think that will quite match the decor at the office."

"Well, you could use it at home." Reed dropped his shopping bags by the couch and took off his jacket, stretching his arm across the room to drape it over the Ming vase.

"Are you drunk, Richards?"

"It's possible," Reed said, nodding. "The place we had dinner had these drinks in giant plastic cups. Giant."

There was another silence. "You and Summers have been drinking the yard-long margaritas?"

"Yeah. They let us keep the cups as souvenirs." Scott waved his in the air for emphasis.

A sigh echoed over the phone. "I think I give up on you two."

"We're having a great time," Reed assured him.

"I'm glad, Richards."

"Tomorrow we're going to the wax museum," Reed went on, taking the glass of water that Scott offered. "We want pictures with the models of Captain America and Bruce Springsteen."

"You do know that I could arrange for you to meet the _actual_ Captain America and Bruce Springsteen, right?"

"Well." Reed blinked and considered that, until Scott poked him in the arm and reminded him to drink the water. "It's probably less awkward this way."

"That's true."

"I've got to go, Tony. Don't worry about us, we're just fine."

"Obviously." The phone clicked off, and Reed frowned at it, then looked at Scott and shrugged.

"I think he's having a bad day."

"Needs a vacation, I bet." Scott grabbed the remote and flopped down on the couch. "Come on, we can catch the repeat of _Ice Road Truckers_ before bed. You know Logan's met some of these guys? Maybe he can make some calls the next time we take some time off."


End file.
